


Saying I Love You (Is Easiest When Drunk)

by moonflares (jennyhearts)



Series: The Distance Between Us AU [2]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Ambiguously established relationship, Before Judar gets shot off to space, Canon Divergence, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, It's a sequel to TDBU but really it's a prequel, M/M, Set before The Distance Between Us, i guess?, not angst for once!, sinjufest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 12:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyhearts/pseuds/moonflares
Summary: It’s more often than not that Judar finds Sinbad inebriated during his clandestine visits to the King of Sindria.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I kept thinking about the missing 500 words on "The Distance Between Us" that would push it to 10k. This fic won't make TDBU 10k but it's set in the same timeline so I'm going to take what I can get.

It’s more often than not that Judar finds Sinbad inebriated during his clandestine visits to the King of Sindria.

The great love affair between the man and the bottle is a legendary one that even people living in the furthest corners of the region are aware of. Sinbad’s love for alcohol is said to only be rivaled by his love for women. Long debates have been had over whether Sinbad would choose to save a bottle of aged wine or a beautiful woman if both of them fell into the water at the same time. Everyone has their own ideas and no one could agree on a single, conclusive answer. Some say he would choose to save the wine; some say he would choose the woman; and some say he would just call upon the power of one of his many djinns to save them both at the same time.

A woman in one arm and a bottle of wine in the other. It is not a difficult picture for people to imagine Sinbad being in.

Judar lands quietly on the windowsill. The marble, chilled by the night breeze, is cool against the soles of his bare feet. Two steps and he’s strolling on the air parallel to the marble floor of the Sindrian king’s bedchambers. The carpet rolls into a tube behind him and tucks itself neatly into a corner of the room. Judar crosses his arms and rests his linked fingers on the small of his back as he walks without a sound towards the man slumped over the desk.

Sinbad is snoring softly. While one of his arms is being used as a makeshift pillow for his head, the fingers of his other hand is curled lightly around the stem of a metal goblet, still filled halfway with a deep crimson liquid.

“Stupid king,” Judar pushes the stray hairs that had fallen across Sinbad’s face away, looking fondly at the sleeping man. A faint smile ghosts across Sinbad’s lips when Judar’s fingers brush against the shell of his ear. Judar can see his eyes moving under his lids when his fingers wander further downward, caressing the relaxed line of his jaw. When his hand comes to rest on the side of his neck, Sinbad’s eyes are fluttering open, the usually brilliant gold only dulled slightly from sleep.

“Judar,” Sinbad’s voice is barely above a whisper but Judar can hear the warmth engulfing those two syllables. He also has the biggest and _dumbest_ smile on his face as he beams at Judar.

“Stupid king,” Judar repeats for Sinbad to hear this time, though he doesn’t notice that some warmth has seeped into his own words. “I could have killed you so easily while you were snoozing away.”

Sinbad leans into Judar’s touch, humming in approval when Judar starts massaging the knot at the back of his neck. “You could have,” Sinbad agrees easily, eyes closing once more. “But you wouldn’t have to because you already have. You’ve killed me many times over, Judar, we’ve been through this.”

Judar snorts in amusement. “Oh, you’re _really_ drunk this time. You’re just talking gibberish now.”

“Am not,” Sinbad retorts childishly, his smile growing wider. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sinbad straightens up into a sitting position and Judar bursts out laughing when he sees the smear of ink on Sinbad’s left cheek. He’s doubled over with laughter, tears stinging the corner of his eyes. Sinbad, the idiot, just laughs along, apparently finding his own brand of hilarity in Judar’s mirth despite not knowing the terrible state his face is in. He uses Judar’s momentary distraction to pull the younger man into his lap. Judar protests weakly, squirming without any real intent of escape when Sinbad wraps his arms tighter around Judar’s bare middle and nuzzles his nose against his face. Judar slides a hand in between Sinbad’s face and his own when the older man starts to rub the prickly hairs of his growing stubble against his cheek. Judar complains with fervor that Sinbad _needs_ to shave but he can literally see his words zoom over Sinbad’s violet head.

It doesn’t take long for their lips to find each other. The first kiss is a sloppy one, Judar is still laughing and Sinbad is kissing Judar’s chin more than his actual mouth. A soft whisper of “stupid idiot,” hands dragging up a strong chest, fingers cupping a face gently to guide him to _just_ the right angle—

Judar tastes wine in the second kiss. He tastes it when Sinbad opens his mouth eagerly, giving free access to Judar’s tongue to map every shape and every curve of the wet heat. Judar tastes the wine on Sinbad’s lips, his tongue, his teeth. It isn’t very often that Judar is left in charge when it comes to their makeout sessions—Sinbad is very giving during their moments of intimacy but he is dominant by nature. Not that Judar minds, he’d even go as far as to say that he likes it—but Sinbad is impossibly pliant beneath him right now, reacting accordingly to Judar’s every move, no sign of dominance in sight. Judar thinks it must be the wine and its effective taming properties on the King of Sindria, but he doesn’t linger on it too long, not when Sinbad is moaning into the kiss, his hands traveling up and down Judar’s back skittishly, as if he couldn’t decide on where he wants them most. To spare his poor, alcohol-muddled brain the torture, Judar guides Sinbad’s wandering hands to his hips. Sinbad, ever the overachiever no matter what type of conquest it may be, slips his thumbs past the hem of Judar’s pants and rubs circles into his heated skin. It draws out low moans from Judar, Sinbad swallowing the sounds greedily.

The third kiss is an unexpected one. Judar breaks away for a few moments to catch his breath, cursing how he needs something as dumb as _air_ to chase away the small, black spots that are dotting the edges of his vision. Considering how things are beginning to take a turn for the hot and heavy, as most of his encounters with Sinbad eventually devolves into, Judar is sure that the next kiss will be one that eases them into certain activities even more pleasant than kissing. What Judar did not expect is for Sinbad to take his face gently between his palms. Judar could still see the hints of intoxication clouding Sinbad’s eyes but his gaze is steady on Judar’s face. Gold to carmine. Judar doesn’t know what compels him to squeeze his eyes shut when Sinbad leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead, lingering only for a few seconds but Judar still feels his hot breath wash over his skin, before he’s leaning back and smiling that _dumb_ smile of his again.

The third kiss leaves Judar flustered. He throws together a hastily composed insult for Sinbad’s sudden show of sentimentality but he doesn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before the man beats him to it.

“I missed you,” Sinbad says. The alcohol-induced haze is still swirling in his eyes but his words are honest, the way his hand carefully cards through the thick strands of Judar’s hair tells him as much. “I missed you,” Judar hates how Sinbad feels the need to repeat himself, as if scared that Judar missed it the first time, as if Judar didn’t already have the sound, the _feel_ , of those three words seared into his memory, dissolved and permeated into his very being. “I was hoping I would get to see you today.”

“Stupid,” is Judar’s knee-jerk response. His hand finds Sinbad’s ponytail and he tugs on the violet strands, tilting his head back and exposing the long column of his throat. Judar kisses the swell of his Adam’s apple, smirks when he feels Sinbad swallow, the little lump bobbing up and down.

“You’ve been calling me that a lot tonight,” Sinbad keeps his head tilted back and Judar uses the opportunity to leave more kisses along his exposed neck, his agitation from before melting away now that they are back in familiar territory for Judar. The moonlight filtering through the window has painted Sinbad’s normally beautifully tanned skin in palettes of silver and yet Judar can still taste the warmth of his skin beneath his lips. The kisses turn to playful nips, the return of Sinbad’s soft moans encouraging Judar to latch on with his teeth and suck on the sensitive flesh. Judar pulls away with a loud “pop,” admiring his handiwork as he traces the outline of the blossoming bruise. It would be there for a few days, Judar is sure, and knowing that _everybody_ in Sindria would be able to see it is making Judar preen with a perverse pleasure.

People can have their silly debates over whether Sinbad’s ultimate choice would be the wine or the women. They can crack their heads open over which girl decided to take a chance and bravely leave her mark on the king that so many desired, to have or to be.

They didn’t know what Judar knows. And they didn’t need to know that the illusion of Sinbad’s attainability is just that and all it will be, a well-crafted illusion. Sinbad, whether he himself knows it or not, has already been claimed and accounted for. Sinbad is Judar’s, ever since their first meeting in that small village in Reim, long before Judar even properly understood what it means to claim someone as king, even before he realized that the bond between a magi and a king is far from being a one-sided declaration of ownership.

“You deserve to be called stupid because you are stupid, stupid king,” Judar’s grin is wide across his face, crimson eyes shining with mischief. He taps the tip of Sinbad’s nose, which earns him a forlorn sigh from the man.

“I’m sure you’re aware that you can be horribly insufferable most of the time, Judar—” laughter bubbles from the back of Judar’s throat when he hears the admonishing tone in Sinbad’s voice. He chokes on that same laughter when he hears Sinbad’s next words.

“W-What did you say?” Judar grabs Sinbad’s hand, the one he had been using to stroke Judar’s back soothingly while he was sputtering and struggling to regain the motor functions of his lungs.

Sinbad blinks innocently at Judar. He guides his fingers that fit like perfect puzzle pieces into the lonely gaps between Judar’s. He lifts their linked hands and kisses Judar’s knuckles before repeating the words that made Judar’s heart fall, fall, _fall_ into the pit of his stomach just moments ago.

“I said, you’re lucky that I love you, Judar.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say it again.”

“I...I love you?”

Grabbing the front of Sinbad’s shirt roughly, Judar yanks the man forward and crushes their lips together in a bruising kiss. Judar doesn’t even give Sinbad the chance to move when he’s already breaking away and burying his face in the hollow spot beneath his chin, his arms tucked in front of his chest, hands still fisted tightly in the fabric.

“Judar—?”

“I’m tired,” Judar cuts in. “I’ll be staying the night. Carry me to bed so I can sleep.”

Sinbad doesn’t say anything else, just drops a kiss onto the crown of dark hair before following through with what is being demanded of him by the smaller man. Judar refuses to relinquish his hold on Sinbad as he tries to set him down, which forces him to crawl into bed with him. They break apart only long enough for Sinbad to divest himself of his shirt before Judar is wrapping his body around Sinbad’s larger frame again, hiding his face in his shoulder once more. Sinbad still doesn’t say anything, only holds Judar tightly within his embrace.

Judar feels Sinbad undoing his braid and combing his hair out, spreading the long strands out in a fan behind him. “Goodnight, Judar,” he whispers into his hair as he presses one last kiss to his temple. Sinbad continues to run his hand through the dark locks until he eventually falls asleep, his fingers going limp near the curve of Judar’s neck.

It is only when Judar hears Sinbad’s soft snores that he risks a look at the man. Sinbad is wearing a serene expression in his sleep, as if he didn’t have a single worry in the world. His relaxed expression plants a seed of resentment in Judar, loathing how Sinbad had fallen asleep so easily when _he’s_ the one responsible for the turmoil kicking up tornadoes in Judar’s heart. How dare he. How dare he say that so easily—

 _I love you_.

Judar should scream. He should scream directly into the ear of the sleeping king and break his eardrums. Better yet, he should pull his wand out and call down a storm of icicles and impale the man to his stupidly comfortable mattress. He should summon a bolt of lightning and electrocute the sleeping man to the point where he becomes completely unrecognizable. He should wake him up and demand for a fight. He should kick and punch the living daylights out of him. He should—

He should tell him that he loves him back—

A fierce flush spreads like wildfire over Judar’s face and his blood feels like it’s been set aflame. He groans and thumps Sinbad’s back with a fist lightly, which puts him into an even more compromising situation since Sinbad responds by drawing him closer still and Judar is suddenly assaulted by the man’s scent. Judar is overwhelmed by the smell of the ocean breeze and expensive wine and whatever it is that’s distinctly Sinbad, Sinbad, _Sinbad_ —

Judar groans again and forces his eyes shut. He squeezes Sinbad tight and wills the gears in his brain to stop spinning for one second. He’s confused, enraged, _scared_ and it’s just _too much_.

Is this why Sinbad drinks? Are matters of the heart easier to handle when one’s brain is too messed up to function?

Judar decides that he’s too sober for love and falls into a restless sleep—where saying those three words back to the man he loves—the man he loves?—wouldn’t feel like an impossible dream.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Chen's performance of [Drunken Truth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7sXgHXPGN0) on King of Masked Singer.
> 
> Any and all comments will be much appreciated! I disown all vocabulary and grammatical mistakes in this piece of work.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading this!


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